


The Mann Date

by viktorcerise



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Dates, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5532302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viktorcerise/pseuds/viktorcerise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poor Scout - his date with Pauling has fallen through, and now he's stuck in a fancy restaurant with Demoman. He even rented a tuxedo! What's a guy to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mann Date

“It's been half an hour, Scout.”

Demoman – Tavish, they weren't on the base anymore – even had a pocket watch. It had his family motto engraved on the back. Scout's rented tuxedo was too short at the cuffs and made him look like a gangly penguin. Even the tablecloths in this restaurant had been ironed, and there were more types of forks and knives set in front of him than Scout knew existed. He fidgeted with what he thought was a salad fork and tried not to pull at his too-tight collar. 

“You don't think they got held up somehow, do you?” Even now there was a note of hope in Scout's voice. 

“Does Miss Pauling seem like the type of lass to let herself get held up?” 

The younger man slouched in his chair and sullenly stared out the window. Spy's acid criticisms of his fashion, attitude and ignorance of etiquette had bruised his ego enough earlier, and now his date had probably stood him up. Scout could practically hear the snorting fits of laughter once Spy found out. 

Tavish sighed. It was one thing to be stood up himself, but poor Scout looked like a kicked puppy. Frankly, the boy had really gotten his hopes up far too high – the Scotsman had it on good authority that Scout had tucked a few condoms into his wallet for 'just in case'. 

“So you think she ditched us?” Now there was the faintest note of uncertainty in Scout's voice. 

Tavish gave a solemn nod. 

“But…?” 

“Look, lad, she's a busy gel and probably had to run out somewhere,” Tavish said. “Don't take it personal.” 

Scout wilted like a day-old dandelion. The demoman raised his hands placatingly as the younger man's head threatened to collide with the tabletop. 

“There's no need to be like that, Scout,” he said. 

“Like what? She probably only said 'yes' 'cos she was being nice to me,” Scout moaned. He twisted his fancy cloth napkin in his lap, and the wounded look in his big blue eyes was so wretched that Tavish felt a pang for the poor boy.

“Now, now, you can't say that for sure,” he said. “Besides, we're here, aren't we? Might as well make the most of it.” He nudged the wine list towards the younger man. “Cheer up, lad, and pick a drink – I'm buying.” 

That earned Tavish a mumbled 'okay', and Scout sat up enough to flip through the menu. The Scotsman observed him for a moment while the younger man's brow furrowed.

“Don't have a clue what half of it is, do you?” 

“I – uh – well -” 

“No worries, mate.” Tavish reached across and plucked the list from Scout's hands. “This,” he said, with a touch of a grin, “is my domain.” 

They split a bottle of champagne first, for the novelty of it, and it wasn't long before Scout had perked up considerably and was behaving much more like himself. Entrees were ordered – haltingly, as Scout's French was about on par with his table manners and Tavish was laughing too hard to help him – and a second bottle of wine popped while said entrees were devoured. Scout held his liquor much better than the demoman could've expected, and now instead of mopey silence, the younger man was talkative and amiable. He seemed fascinated by Tavish's past and sat with rapt attention while the Scotsman related his days growing up in the moors of Ullapool, his first halting experiments with explosives, and his bizarre history with the occult. 

The evening wore on, and it was around midnight once they stepped out into the night. Scout stumbled a bit and Tavish offered his arm for support. 

“I dunno, man,” Scout said, pulling off his bowtie and shoving it in a pocket. He eyeballed Tavish, the colour still high in his face. “Ain't that a little bit gay?”

“What, leaning on a mate so's you don't crack your face on the pavement? Don't be silly. I don't want you needing stitches – you know what our Medic is like when he's disturbed.” 

Scout took Tavish's arm without argument. 

“I had fun,” Scout said. Tavish looked down at him. The younger man was staring straight ahead, and his grip tightened minutely on Tavish. “With you.”

“Aye? Even without the gel of your dreams?” 

Scout blushed, and he blurted, “Well, yeah, we're both guys and sometimes it's fun to – go on dates with, y'know, other dudes. Like for fun. As friends. Man friends.” 

They stopped at a dusty railway crossing where the barriers were down and a late cargo train was whistling by. 

“Man friends,” Tavish said absently. 

“Yeah. Like, two dudes can hang out without it being, like, a gay thing, right? Girls do it.” 

“That they do. Though, we're a bit overdressed for 'hanging out', like.” 

“We – you're wearing a skirt, Tavish!”

“Kilt, laddie. And you are wearing a tuxedo what's two sizes too small for you, so you really oughtn't be critiquing my get-up.” 

Scout released the Scotsman's arm and stared at his feet, blushing. 

“I think you're a wee bit drunk,” the demoman said. The train disappeared into the distance, and slowly the crossing was unbarred. “Let's get you back to the base and into the shower, aye?”

Scout nodded. Tavish offered his arm again, out of curiosity, and Scout clung to it again after a moment's hesitation. They were most of the way back before either spoke again. 

“Sorry,” Scout said.

“For what?”

“Bein' a jerk. Makin' fun of your kilt.” 

Tavish glanced down at him again. The younger man was holding himself closer, his head leaning against the Scotsman's bicep. The pomade had loosened its grip on his hair and a few stray locks fell across his face. With his free hand, Tavish brushed them away, and Scout closed his eyes and smiled a little.

“The kilt looks good,” he said softly. 

“Thank you.”

“You look good.” 

Tavish smiled, and found Scout's slender fingers weaving between his. “You don't look so bad yourself.” 

The ramshackle base drew closer, quiet and dormant in these late hours. Come Monday the hills would echo with gunfire and explosions, but for now it rested, like a crocodile lying in wait. Scout stayed holding Tavish's hand even after they stepped inside. They reached the dormitories, and Scout's door, but the younger man hesitated. 

“I guess this is good night,” he said, but didn't move. 

“Suppose so.” Tavish checked his watch – nearly one in the morning. He turned to go, but stopped once he felt a gentle tug at his arm.

“Hey,” Scout said. He was biting his lip. “Ain't...you gonna give me a good night kiss?” 

The Scotsman turned back. “You…? Wasn't it you who was going on about 'just friends' earlier?” 

Scout's face went scarlet and he began to babble. “W-well, y'know, I didn't want you getting the wrong idea about me or nothing, but I had a really good time and I guess I'm...kinda glad our dates never showed up, 'cos I think I had more fun with just you, and you look really good in your suit, and – Jesus Christ, demo, are you gonna kiss me or not?” 

Tavish kissed him. Nothing more forceful than their lips pressed together, and Tavish's fingers on Scout's jaw to tip his face up, but Scout made a soft sound in his throat and threw one arm around the Scotsman's neck. 

“And I ain't drunk,” Scout murmured when there was space to get the words out. “Just real anxious. You wanna come in?” 

“No, I'd best be to bed myself. I've been drunk more times than you've had hot meals, boyo, and you are well pished by anyone's standards.” Tavish stroked his cheek, smiling. “We can spend more time together tomorrow, when you're sober, aye?” 

Scout hugged him, face pressed into the bigger man's chest. The Scot rested a hand on his back and kissed him on the top of the head. 

“You mean it?” Scout said, looking up at him. “You'd wanna date me?”

“I don't kiss people I don't want to date,” Tavish replied. “Now run along, love, and get some good shuteye. I'll see you in the morning.” 

A smile spread across the younger man's face, and after one last squeeze, he released Tavish and went to unlock the door to his room. The Scotsman waved and turned to walk the few doors down to his own quarters, but a call from Scout made him look back.

The runner was awkwardly holding a small bundle of flowers, his cheeks bright pink.

“I – I was gonna give these to Miss Pauling, but I ran out the door without them and I don't want them to get all wilty so – here, um, Tavish.” He thrust the bouquet towards the Scotsman. 

Tavish took them gently and bent a bit to kiss Scout on the forehead. 

“Thank you. They're lovely, Scout. Now, enough romance – it's off to bed with you now.”

Scout smiled a bit and this time, he didn't come back out after he shut the door. Tavish went to his room, set his new flowers in an empty bottle of scrumpy, and laid back on the bed with a sigh. Sometimes, he thought, things really do work out for the better in the end.


End file.
